"The fuck is that..." Ian didn't get to finish. The creature leapt.
Ian burst sideways, his body reacting faster than thought. The ground beneath him disassembled, instantly forming a thick pike. He drove it straight through Hamon's chest, but it did nothing. The creature barely slowed.
Ian quickly took out a sharp blade, disassembled it into spikes, and then fused them with the ground. Moving swiftly, he reassembled it into a massive rock sword with sharp metallic ends, and swung. The blade cut through Hamon's head, splitting it clean off his body.
But that was not the end.
From Hamon's severed neck, new appendages emerged. Tentacles, darker and thicker than before, wriggled from the stump. Ian recoiled, horrified.
"Fuck this." Ian's hand blurred. He quickly disassembled the ground around the creature's limbs and then slammed them back into place, pinning the tendrils. Without missing a beat, he reassembled his sword into a heavier blade and drove it down, cleaving Hamon's body from shoulder to waist. He was stopped at the midpoint, just enough to see the pulsating, bulging mass of blue lodged deep in Hamon's chest.
"Alright." Ian growled. "No more games."
He moved. In a single burst of strength, Ian plunged his hand straight into the chest blob.
"GRAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" The creature howled as Ian's fingers clenched around the parasite.
"You shouldn't exist." Ian ripped.
The blue bulb came free, pulsating and convulsing. Instantly, all the tendrils withered. Hamon's body convulsed violently, his limbs flailing as the parasite was torn from its anchor. Ian, without hesitation, slammed the bulb into a containment sphere and sealed it shut.
Hamon's body finally dropped, lifeless.
"What the fuck did they do to you…" Ian muttered, stepping back. His arm still ached from the force of the struggle.
A pained groan echoed behind him. Ian turned. Enira, still alive, barely. She was clutching her broken arm, gasping. "You…" she spat, her eyes filled with hatred. "You don't know what you've done..."
Ian didn't let her finish. Without a word, he reassembled a part of his cloak into a thick muzzle and clamped it over her mouth.
"That's enough out of you." Ian exhaled. His body was bruised, his arms slightly burned from contact with Hamon's tendrils, but they were already healing. His superior physique quickly neutralized most of the injuries.
He looked back. Eryndor, still unconscious. Enira, restrained. Hamon, dead, or whatever he had become.
"What the hell were you people after…" Ian muttered. "And what the fuck did you turn him into?"
Ian bent down, inspecting the parasite still pulsating inside the containment sphere. Its blue mass was still faintly alive.
His mind churned. Now what?
Ian's first instinct was clear: Get information. He needed to know how are they related to The Quiet Testament and why they were after Myrra, what exactly did they want from her? Without it, Ian would always be a step behind.
But that wasn't the only problem. Ian exhaled slowly, his mind already racing through possible outcomes. There were multiple paths from here, none of them perfect.
The first was to quietly kill them all. It was clean, effective, and it would ensure they couldn't report back to The Quiet Testament. But Ian immediately dismissed the thought. If The Quiet Testament was truly invested in Myrra, then eliminating these three would only cause them to escalate matters, possibly sending someone more powerful, or even launching direct action. Ian wasn't prepared for that yet.
The second was to turn them over to the authorities. But that came with few more massive risks. Worst of them, Ian himself might come under their radar. They wouldn't waste time with subtlety; they would come straight for Myrra, and him.
The third - control them. This was the most advantageous. If he managed to control even one of them, then he could use that individual to feed false information back to The Quiet Testament, and possibly gain more intel from the inside. This was ideal, but controlling a person was complex. Ian did have some methods, but none were perfect.
Forcible imprinting; injecting his mental energy signature directly into their mind. This would create a one-sided compulsion to obey him, but for this to work, he would need a much higher mental energy. Although his mental energy was stronger than most, both Eryndor and Enira were awakened ones. This might not work and would leave him with only a loose grip on them. If he were First Order, it would be a different story.
Implanting a parasite was another option, but the choice of parasite mattered. Some Paths specialized in this, like the old Eldritch Path were more suitable, or a path good at charming others. Even with the Eldritch path he follows, it was possible. But to attempt this, Ian would have to break a root from his own body and implant it, which was far too dangerous and painful for him.
If his attempts at control failed, he could also take them to either Master Ordan or Aeson and utilize some means with their help to control them. They should have much better ways and be able to do it with ease. But even that plan had risks. Although highly unlikely, what if they were connected to The Quiet Testament in some capacity? Or what if someone around them was? Or maybe if the treasure came into the picture and it was attractive enough, then it would backfire on him. Ian couldn't afford that, no matter how slim the chances.
"Only if there was a better way to control them…" Ian muttered.
He looked down at Eryndor's unconscious body. The man was still limp, blood crusted around his mouth. Ian dragged his form onto a stone table within the cave. From his storage ring, he began pulling out various tools, invasive, crude surgical instruments designed to open the body.
Enira, still bound with her limbs and mouth restrained, watched this in abject horror. Her eyes widened as she realized what Ian was about to do. She struggled, muffled screams escaping through the fabric binding her mouth.
"Be quiet," Ian said coldly without looking at her. "I'm only experimenting."
She froze, shuddering.
Ian placed his hand over Eryndor's forehead, preparing to proceed, but just then, something unexpected happened. The ring with a petal-like band on his finger glowed.
Ian flinched, startled. Before he could react, the ring unfolded, the living flower blooming once again beside him: the Zephar Petals.
A direct consciousness-to-mind communication was sent to his mind-
I can control them.
Ian froze. "What?"
I can control them, the Petal repeated in his mind. Their minds are fragile. I can reconfigure their autonomy and reorient their will.
Ian was stunned. "Since when could you do that?"
You never asked.
Ian stared at the flower, disbelief flooding his face. He had never received a direct response from the Zephar Petals. It had always acted, but never spoken. Yet now, it was offering him exactly what he needed.
"…Fine," Ian said slowly. "Do it."
The Petal responded instantly. A strange, haunting hum filled the cave. Tendrils of faint, golden light erupted from the Petal, forming strange, ancient symbols mid-air. Ian recognized none of them, but he didn't care.
The symbols plunged into Eryndor's skull like spectral daggers. His body twitched violently, his breath hitched in a strangled gasp. His fingers clenched and unclenched, spasming as if resisting something unseen. Then… it was done.
Eryndor's body slackened. His eyes opened, blank, hollow, and they turned toward Ian.
"…Stand," Ian ordered.
Without hesitation, Eryndor stood. His limbs were still weak, his body battered, but his will was no longer his own. Ian could feel it. A connection through the Petal. Eryndor was his.
"Do you remember yourself?" Ian asked.
Eryndor's eyes flickered with brief recognition, his eyes gaining light. "Yes," he replied lightly.
Ian ordered Eryndor to perform a few tasks. Eryndor, although knowing it was wrong, still did it. It was as if a voice in his brain constantly pushed him to follow Ian's orders.
Enira, seeing this, became horrified once again. She would be next, lose her autonomy another time, this time more dangerously.
And she was indeed right. Another symbol formed mid-air, more intricate than before, glowing with a sinister, pulsating light.
"No, no, no—NO!" Enira muffled a scream as the symbol plunged into her skull. Her entire body seized, her muscles locking up. Her eyes rolled back, veins in her neck tightening as if something unseen constricted them. Then, after a moment of stillness, her head snapped forward.
Her limbs slumped. Her head dropped.
"Stand," Ian said softly.
Enira rose. Her eyes still held emotion, horror, defiance, disgust, but her body obeyed Ian without hesitation.
Ian exhaled, his heart still cold. He turned toward the Petal. "What did you do?"
Controlled their will. Linked them to you. The flower's voice sounded weaker now. They will serve you without question, but their consciousness remains. They know what's happening, but they cannot resist.
Ian stared at Enira. Her horrified eyes locked onto him, tears streaming down her face. But her body… rigidly stood at attention, waiting for his command.
A dark part of Ian's mind accepted this without hesitation. "Good."
The Petal trembled, exhausted. I cannot do more…
Without warning, it folded itself back into a ring on Ian's finger, entirely dormant. Ian tried communicating, but received nothing.
"…That's fine." Ian turned to his new subordinates. "I have what I need."
Ian crossed his arms, his gaze cold and unrelenting. He let the silence stretch, watching the flickering torchlight cast shadows across Eryndor and Enira's restrained forms. Then, in a low voice, he asked,
"First things first. Who are you?"
Eryndor clenched his jaw. His breathing was ragged, sweat trailing down his forehead. He looked like he wanted to resist, but Ian could feel the compulsion forcing the words from his throat.
"…Eryndor Velst." His voice was hoarse. "She's Enira Velst. We're… archaeologists from Rhynvald. We came here under the guise of surveying the ruins."
Ian's brow twitched. "Archaeologists?"
Eryndor let out a bitter chuckle. "That's what I used to be. A normal archaeologist, working at the Yisrarts Academy in Rhynvald. Then one day, during an unlicensed expedition, I got infected with something." His voice turned sharp with frustration. "Since it was unlicensed, the officials weren't obliged to help me. And the treatment… it cost a fortune. It would've required a third-order to intervene, but without any official backing, who would care for a measly awakened one?"
His expression darkened. "The Quiet Testament came for me soon after. Gave me a choice, work for them or wait for death."
Ian's expression remained unreadable. "And you chose to work for them."
"I chose to live." Eryndor exhaled. "They didn't stop there. They married me to Enira, one of their own."
"She took care of me…" Eryndor's voice softened, a strange mix of bitterness and gratitude lacing his words. "Kept me alive when the infection nearly killed me. Watched over me when no one else would." He let out a short, tired breath. "I knew what it was. I wasn't blind. She was following orders, making sure I didn't break before I could be useful to them."
He glanced at Enira, something complicated flickering in his gaze. "But that didn't change the fact that she was there. That she stayed." His fingers curled slightly. "And maybe… that was enough."
Ian turned his gaze to Enira. "And you? What are you?"
Enira's lips trembled, but she spoke, her voice flat and emotionless. "Nothing more than a peripheral member. I was taken from my home when I was thirteen. Trained to serve their interests. My first assignment was Eryndor, marrying him, keeping him loyal, but it was mainly to serve as a front for my operations, to give me a proper identity."
Ian studied them both in silence.